Lightning Bolt – Earthly Delights

I want it to consume me wholly and lead me blind into the neon nation screaming obscenities through my checkered beard as terrorist cum art project on a fixed gear piece of shit I spent way too much time and money on with cherry bombs duct taped to my balls in a recycled silk-screened t-shirt of the chick from Galaxy High 69ing your mom in pink with LIBERAME! emblazoned in peripatetic script. Humus stained and still hungry for blood from the G-umm summit. Zines in my messenger bag at five bucks a piece. Holga strapped to my neck, snapping wildly. My home, the floor of a luxury condo unfinished under the Williamsburg Bridge where I perform by existing and nothing less and somehow that makes a meaning of my insignificance.

But shit, it just isn’t.

I mean, it’s good…I guess. It’s Lightning Bolt, after all and there’s cheap pittance when it comes to comparing this two backed beast’s glorious drum and bass tantrum but they’ve done significantly better by me.

They’ve used melody to transcend their noise. Righteous joy to cut the muddy fury. They were a party band for the neotribal generation of kids too proud to give a damn that they didn’t know the words and whose sweat would fertilize the hope of a hundred new bands. Some good, most bad. All blind to the euphoria of playing on the floor in a whirling, deathproof orgy.

Now they just sound like grumpy old vegans traversing the world for small profit. Endless, hopeless nomads in minute masks just making a racket.